


Sprung

by apparition



Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Lucifer hates goats, and a spring, but with a twist, devil reveal, pervy Chloe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 13:11:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15510609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apparition/pseuds/apparition
Summary: A different sort of devil reveal.





	Sprung

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't help myself.  
> (Neither can Chloe)

He was taking too long.

Chloe paced across the floor of Lucifer's penthouse, the click of her boots resounding on his hard tiled floor. The place was immaculate as usual, with not a cushion gone astray or a lampshade knocked askew. Despite the unasked-for knowledge Chloe had of the level of traffic this place saw night after night, with a ready supply of bedroom guests from the club downstairs, it looked effortlessly tidy.

The books on the shelves never moved, yet they were free of dust, and despite the activity the bar saw, each bottle sat proudly in its place, evenly spaced with the label turned outward. At the rate Lucifer drank, there should have been at least a few half-empty, yet each one was filled to the brim.

In fact, she’d never even noticed where he kept the trash - did he even have one? Or did those empty bottles vanish miraculously, the same way the liquor did?

The place was unfairly clean. Although, he didn’t live with a small child. Chloe considered letting Trixie loose on it briefly, just to even the odds.

Then again, that was a terrible idea.  Lucifer _was_ a small child, when it came to impulse control.

He certainly knew how to decorate though. The warmth of the softly glowing lamps lent the space a comfortable intimacy, playing over the hard lines of the furnishings and the softer, intriguing curios that were laid out in key locations. Now she had time to look, the beautiful detailing on those carved walls was far more intricate than she realised. And far older.

They couldn’t be real - not even Lucifer was that decadent.   

She stared at the strange markings, spelling out some sort of ancient script. Lower down, the colour of the stone deepened, as if it had seen less wear.

Or been half-buried in some far flung archaeological site, until someone had dug them up. And paid for them to be shipped to LA.

Who was she kidding. Of course he was that decadent. He’d probably claim he’d invented the concept.

Every inch of this place dripped with easy excess, and there, in the centre of the room, was the crown jewel itself. Chloe halted by the piano, studying her face in the reflection of the glossy black lid.

Not a single fingerprint. Despite the whiskey glass perched on its top. And the fact he played the thing all the time. Did he walk around polishing things with that pocket square when her back was turned?

Come to think of it, her own place had been looking marginally tidier recently. That was interesting.

Very deliberately, she pressed a thumb down onto the lid of the piano, leaving the kind of lovely, well-defined print Ella would be proud of.

That was for making her wait.

There was no doubt he put the same level of care into his own appearance, considering the amount of time he was currently taking in his ensuite. They were supposed to have left half an hour ago, to meet their next lead.

But Lucifer had insisted on changing, deeply horrified by their visit to that hobby farm this morning.

Chloe wandered into the bedroom, peeking curiously at the ensuite door. They’d barely spent five minutes walking through the actual farmyard, but the appearance of a set of miniature goats at Lucifer’s heels had sent him rocketing back to the carpark. He’d demanded a stop at home, to ‘freshen up’, looking vaguely traumatised.

That had been a very long time ago.

Surely nobody needed more than thirty minutes in the shower? Chloe sat on the end of the bed, resisting the urge to knock on that door.

Those goats had been adorable. The idea of sneaking one up here one day as a prank was particularly appealing.

All she’d say was that she needed him to mind her ‘kid’. It would be sweet revenge for some of his own ridiculous puns.

She looked around, idly stroking the soft silk bedcover. The bedroom was as put together as its owner; the usual everyday disarray that most people left in their wake as mysterious an absence as Lucifer’s casual-wear.

Did he really wear nothing but an endless wardrobe of perfectly tailored suits?

The lack of variety in his laundry suggested so. She’d dug through it, that one time, not that she’d ever admit it, and found nothing but slightly crumpled suit pieces, dress shirts, and socks. She’d stopped when she realised what was missing. And how creepy she was being.

Besides, he probably only left worn clothing around when he felt like decorating his bedroom with the trophies of past lovers.

Or, that time she’d done it for him. With her own clothes.

Chloe looked away from the bedroom lampshade. That had been a one-off, and she hadn’t slept with him, after all. She’d been upset, drunk, and recently dumped. It happened. Or rather, hadn’t happened. Besides, with the level of elegance he usually maintained, her off-brand clothes probably didn’t fit the look he was going for.

Even his whiskey glasses in the other room were artfully discarded, one left at the end of the bar in addition to the one on the piano. As the only real markers of his presence they fit in perfectly with the indulgent chic he cultivated; the small amount left in each glass was an invitation, that final sip ready to be relished at any time.

Like the man himself.

That was a dangerous line of thought.

The sound of the shower finally shutting off was a much needed distraction from the increasingly sordid places her brain was venturing into. Listening to him in the shower probably hadn’t helped.

It also probably wasn’t normal to be this familiar with the bedroom of a man she wasn’t sleeping with.

That bed was incredibly comfortable though. And he made an amazing breakfast.

He was probably naked in there right now, towelling himself off.

In fact, he could be doing anything in there.

They needed to leave.

“Lucifer!” she called, standing. His robe was missing from its hook on the wall. He must have taken it in with him, which was mildly disappointing.

No it wasn’t. She was _not_ thinking about that. She rapped on the door, hoping he’d materialise in a cloud of steam wearing yet another freshly pressed suit, however impractical that seemed.

The mental picture of what she told herself she was hoping for, and the one that actually appeared in her brain were entirely different, the latter wearing significantly _less_ .

He did look good in red. That robe was _very_ complementary.

It would also look good on the floor. Of the bedroom.

The sound of a hairdryer switching on was a wake up call. She was in his bedroom. He didn’t believe in doors, and she knew he wouldn’t object, but she wasn’t going to stand there and watch him get dressed.

She’d just go back into the other room and think about it. Okay.

That would be the right thing to do. Sort of.

Except she was still standing there, in front of the door. Thinking about it.

Lucifer really was taking far too long. He obviously hadn’t heard her.

Maybe she should just go in there and tell him to get a move on. He wouldn’t mind. He’d probably think it was exciting. After all, he’d put himself on proud display more than once. He loved an audience. He definitely wouldn’t mind.

She might not mind either.

The hairdryer switched off.

Chloe had a line ready for him as she opened the door, something vaguely professional and important sounding, and nothing remotely related to the way that robe would look as she slid it off his shoulders. The line died on her lips as she saw him.

She saw him.

Lucifer turned, in his robe, at the sound of the door opening, a look of panic on his face. His yelp was a semitone higher than the one the miniature goats had elicited.

There was something odd in his hand, something connected to the wall, but it was the other hand that was pulling at his hair, that left Chloe standing speechless.

His hair.

It was curly.

Thick, dark, _actual_ curls.

Not just wavy, or tousled, but a crown of full-blown black curls that showed absolutely no sign of lying flat. The steam that still hung heavy in the room was weighing them down slightly, but they pushed up from his head, fierce, refusing to be tamed.

They were sheer rebellion.

They were gorgeous.

She stood there, shocked, trying to reconcile the carefully sculpted suaveness of his usual look with this literal hot mess.

Lucifer had similarly frozen, eyes wide, his rabbit-in-the-headlights impression on point. The total lack of his customary poise left him looking vaguely cherubic, with those _things_ wreathing his face. He was still slightly pink from the shower, yet the blush that was creeping across his cheeks was winning out.

How had she not known? Sure, she’d glimpsed the odd stray lock now and then, and there’d been that time she’d glimpsed his reflection in the mirror and thought there’d been something _more_ there - but she’d ignored it, sure it was impossible.

Curls. He had curls.

Dan had mentioned them too, after that case where he’d gone with Lucifer to that sauna, but she hadn’t taken him seriously.

She’d been in denial, this whole time.

“It’s true. It’s all true.” The words barely seemed to encompass the enormity of the revelation.

Lucifer lowered the thing in his hand, and took a step backwards, bumping up against the sink.

It was a hair-straightener. His fingers were white-knuckled around it.

He tried to explain. “Detective. This is… not how I wanted you to find out.”

“You’re…” She closed in on him, voice going faint. “They’re…”

“They’re hideous. I know.” He abruptly turned around, and started dragging the straightener through them, hands shaking slightly.

Chloe watched as the little spring he’d pulled straight slipped out from between the ceramic plates of the straightener, returning home in a spiral of glory.

She giggled.

He flinched, squaring his shoulders at the sound. With grim determination, he pulled another curl straight, and begun to lift the straightener towards it.

Oh no. He couldn’t.

She had to get it off him. She couldn’t let him destroy them. It was self-harm.

Her hand had just closed on the handle of the infernal device, halting its path of destruction, when he whirled around, pulling it away from her reach. He met her eyes, the rising blush on his cheeks a shade lighter than the red robe he wore.

“Don’t. Please.” The words were a soft plea.

“Okay.” She dropped her hand. “Just, maybe put it down. For now?”

“I hate them.”

“They’re lovely.” She spoke firmly, some sense of his wounded pride finally hitting her. It really wasn’t fair of her to laugh.

“No, they aren't.” He shook his head, and the way they bounced, like they were continuing on without him, forced another smirk of a laugh out of Chloe.

Damn it.

He looked away. “I never asked for them, Dad just forced them on me. I’d cut them off, but they just keep growing back.”

Clearly he’d won the genetic lottery if his Dad had passed on that hair.

She reached for that professionalism that years of ignoring Hot Tub High School had instilled in her. “Lucifer. They’re fine.” They were quick thick actually. They probably felt amazing too.

That was not a useful thought. She placed a hand on his arm, and he let go of the straightener, setting it on the top of the sink.

“How is this even possible? It must take you ages.”

That finally cracked a hint of a smile through his discomfort. “An _eternity_ , Detective.” The next part was quieter. “Apologies for keeping you waiting.”

Lucifer looked down, not meeting her eyes, but it only gave her a better view of his head. Were they as soft as they looked? Maybe that suspect could be interviewed later.

She needed to touch them. They had to feel amazing.

The hand she had on his arm had drifted up the back of his neck without her noticing, but when she drew her fingers up, sinking deep into that luxurious pile, he made a small, surprised noise that made her suddenly conscious of how close they were standing.

He was too tall. She tugged a little, and he bent a bit at the waist, hunching against the sink.

That was good. She had full access now.

“Detec- _oooh_ .” His eyes lidded as she dragged her nails across his scalp, feeling the tight curls slip past. This was great. She could do this all day.

By the looks of him, so could Lucifer. He’d bent lower, letting his eyes slip closed. The noises he was making were vaguely obscene, travelling right down deep into her.

It really was fascinating, the way they sprung back when they were pulled.

He started to speak, so she ran her fingers all the way across, and down the back of his neck. The words dissolved into a shudder, to Chloe’s delight.

This was a great power that she now wielded.

“I should have done this when you wouldn’t shut up about those goats.” He cracked his eyes open, half-listening, while she kept her hand moving. She couldn’t resist gently poking at his pride. “Apparently curls aren’t that bad.”

He gave a huff at that, and pulled his head away, if a little reluctantly.

“I’m not a cat. I don’t enjoy being stroked.”

He was convincing no-one.

More than slightly aware of his compromised image, he diverted into innuendo, always a fail-safe. “Actually,” and the glint in his eye was as wicked as he could make it, “there’s always something else you could stroke.”

The raised eyebrow was a bit too much, Chloe thought, as she pressed a hand against the front of his robe. “Are you sure? You were enjoying yourself enough already.”

He was ridiculously hard, in seconds.

It was very satisfying.

He had not been expecting that. She pressed harder. “You should have shown me those a long time ago, you know. They’re very good.”

She had him more than a little undone, now. And very confused. “You’re just as bad as those renaissance painters. Even the wings weren’t as exciting for them. Although, they did a lovely job on the rest of me.”

It was pure babble, anything to distract her. Or himself.

He didn’t stand a chance. She placed the other hand back in his hair, to prove her point, and he melted.

It was doing interesting things to her as well, but she was far better at hiding it.

“We’re late, you know,” she told him sternly.

“...so?”

“So get a move on.” She gave his hair a sharp tug.

“Oh”, he murmured in delight. “That's wonderfully kinky.”

He really had no idea.

She gave him a gentle tug towards the door, making her intention clear. They were through it and into his bedroom in moments. The dazed look on his face was exactly what she’d been hoping for.

Letting go of him, she gave him a nudge towards his walk-in wardrobe. “Get dressed.”

She cut off the protest before it could go beyond a frustrated whine. “Go on. And then we’ll see what happens.” She let her voice drop, low.

This was ridiculously easy.

She did get to see that robe drop from his shoulders, after all, and really, should anyone look that good putting clothes _on_ ? He buttoned up his shirt with all the flair of a chef icing a cake.

Delicious.

But dessert was for later. The moment he was fully dressed, she walked out of the bedroom.

He was by her side immediately, calling over her shoulder. “Detective?”

She approached his piano, about to spring the next part of her plan on him, but stopped abruptly at the sight of the lid.

The fingerprint was gone. How the hell?

He mistook her confusion. “It will hold your weight you know. Tried and tested.”

He was impossible. And the thought of calling his bluff there was tempting. Would he really sully his precious instrument like that?

There were probably a lot of things he’d like to sully his instrument with, really.

She turned to face him. He hadn’t quite nailed the suit this time, apparently capable of forgetting to do up his cuffs. The curls were very distracting. For him as well, it seemed.

“Not now.” It wasn’t a no, and he definitely noticed. “Come on.” She headed towards the elevator.

“I can’t go out like this!”

Ah, she’d have to convince him. Alright then.

She strode back over to where he stood, and ran her hand back up, deep into his hair, and tightened her grip. He shivered, familiar with this now.

She’d gotten him halfway to the elevator before he realised what was happening.

“Detective!” He twisted, trying to free himself from her grip, but the purchase those curls afforded was traitorously firm.

Chloe smirked, following his movements with her arm. He tried twisting the other way, but he couldn’t get rid of her.

“All this time, I've been trying to work out how to get you to behave. Turns out I just needed the right leverage.”

She looped her arm around to turn his face down towards hers. He was wonderfully pliable in his vaguely unfashionable distress.

He hadn’t yet picked up on the fact that she was staring at him the way a lion watches a gazelle.

Those curls would be much better to hold onto than horns.

They could try that out later, maybe. After they finished up today. They’d stop by the precinct, though. Ella needed to see this.  

Everyone needed to see this.

She relented, easing her grip. “We’ve got work to do. But later, I could use a shower.”

“Detective, I-”

“I was thinking of using _your_ shower.”

That shut him up. She took pity, and gave him a giant clue.

“I might need a hand.”

He blinked. “Right. Alright. Let’s ah…” he ran a hand through his hair, completely distracted. The curls sprung back up in its passage. 

“Let’s go?” She tilted her head towards the exit.

They were in the elevator and on their way without any further protest.

They could finish early. It would be fine.

She could definitely keep her hands off him for the rest of the day.

Theoretically.

Those curls would be her undoing. Was it really fair to unleash them on the rest of the world?

Judging from the way Lucifer followed her the exact same way those little goats had trotted along behind him, it was worth it.

Chloe held her handbag behind her back, making sure Lucifer couldn’t see it. She’d swiped the straightener when he wasn’t looking.

As far as she was concerned, she was doing him a service.

And if she had anything to do with it, he’d never use it again.

 


End file.
